Red
by Roadstergal
Summary: A series of vignettes centering on the interaction between Logan and Wheeler.
1. Chapter 1

She had red hair. 

It was one of the first things Logan had noticed. That and the freckles. Oh, and the fact that she looked barely twenty goddam years old? It was ridiculous. He had told himself, many times over the years he had been stuck there, that it would be worth anything to stay off of Staten Island - but being partnered with this kid?

Yes, it was completely fucking ridiculous, walking along with this girl tagging along, as if he were her dad or some such shit. During their first few cases, he was constantly on the point of storming out. Telling Ross to suck it. Telling Ross he wanted Barek back.

But he never did. See, she had this _look_. Logan couldn't explain it any better than that. It wasn't condescending, it wasn't upset, it wasn't mean - it just seemed to say, "What, can't handle it?" With a sprinkle of resignation on the side, as if she had expected that he couldn't handle real cases again after his enforced time off.

Somehow, the red hair was a key part of that look.

And so he growled and grumbled and carried on and was pointedly not polite to her. And she seemed to be fine with that, for some reason.

So he stayed. Hell, he thought - maybe she wasn't that bad. She was a kid, she was naive, she was overconfident, she was a pain - but she knew what she was doing, she had a rejoinder for every one of his insults and gripes, and she was dogged on cases. Nah, she wasn't that bad.

And she had red hair. It looked pretty good on her, he had to admit.


	2. Sour

Wheeler took a small tin out of her pocket, pulled out a hard candy, and popped it in her mouth. The harsh, intense flavor filled her mouth, and she sucked hard, shivered, and grinned. After enjoying it for a moment, she remembered her manners and held the tin out to her partner, sheltering it with her hand. "Want one?" 

Logan, his face half-hidden by the coat collar that was turned up against the rain, looked at the tin dubiously. "What are those?"

"Ecstasy." Logan twisted his lip, and she laughed and relented. "Sour hard candies. Go on, they're good."

Logan fished out a candy, stuck it in his mouth, pulled a face, and spat it onto the ground. "Gah, god, that is _foul_!"

Wheeler watched the little ball skip along the ground, then get swept away in the stream of dirty water that was flowing down the gutter. She closed the tin and shoved it back in her pocket. "Well, so much for _that_ experiment."

Logan shrugged. "Sorry, I'm just not masochistic when it comes to my snacks."

Blunt and sarcastic, as always. Wheeler cocked her head, watching rain drip off of his wet hair and run down his face. She had gotten used to him in record time, she thought. He had been terribly annoying, at first - and still was, really, but she could not conceive of working with anyone else. He was so terribly competent, and a good complement - almost frighteningly good - to herself. She snapped out of her reverie as he pointed. "We're early. Let's pop in there for a moment."

The coffee shop he had pointed towards was warm and dry, and Wheeler ducked in gratefully, taking off her coat and shaking the water out of it. Logan did the same before walking over to the counter. He had his usual I-just-want-a-plain-cup-of-coffee debate with the bepierced teenage barista as Wheeler looked on in amusement.

They settled down at a table near the window, the better to keep an eye on the passersby. "It's funny," she said with a mischievous grin. "I pegged you for one of those competitive eaters. You know, one of those guys who always orders the spiciest dish, then throws Tabasco on it to show he can _take it_."

Logan shot her a slightly confused look. "Me? No, I just like rare steak and potatoes, the blander the better." He settled back, looking as if he were tasting a bittersweet memory. "I swear, Min broke up with me because of that. She thought she was Thai, and every dish had to be hot enough to burn the hair off of your balls."

"I don't have balls."

Logan looked back at her. "Well, not _your_ balls. I mean balls in general. Oh," he sighed and flicked his hand in a dismissive gesture, "it isn't important, really. What _is_ important is that the sex was great. _Amazing_."

Wheeler folded her hands over her cup of coffee. It was technically an inappropriate topic of discussion between co-workers, but as neither of them seemed to mind, what was the harm? "Do you think there might be a link? Spicy food and good sex?"

"So people who _are_ masochistic when it comes to food are better in bed?" he snorted.

Wheeler took a sip of her coffee and grinned at him mischievously over the top of the cup. "It's a hypothesis."

"Well, it's not correct." He slapped his palm on the table with finality. "I like bland food, and I am _damn_ good in bed."

"All men say that," she shot back. This repartee was so easy, so comfortable. "I can tell you that it isn't true of at least," she paused as if counting, "five of them."

He spread his hands. "Do you want affidavits?"

"Shall I hunt down your ex-girlfriends and question them?" she asked, her grin widening.

"Well, some of them," he replied. "I'll give you a list of the ones to avoid. Bitter ex syndrome - you know how it goes."

"Oh, of..." Wheeler stopped talking as Logan bent forward earnestly and rapped his knuckles on the table, looking out the rain-streaked window.

"Our guy is here," he said to her quietly, and stood up, grabbing his coat. Wheeler leapt up, as well, all frivolous thoughts pushed to the back of her mind as she focused back on the case at hand.

There those thoughts would remain, out of the way of her consciousness as she and Logan worked the case. That class of Logan-thoughts always did, gracefully sliding into the background once there was business to be done. But they had a way of resurfacing, late at night when she was at home in bed, tickling at her consciousness. She would worry at them like an irate terrier. She was a very organized person, after all, and she wanted to sort them out in an orderly fashion, file them away into their proper places. But they just sneered at her attempts to categorize them.

As the man himself did.


End file.
